A New York City firefighter from 1959 to 1979, Mr. Hayes lived in East Northport, N.Y., and had worked as fire safety director at the trade center since 1995. He loved that building. He loved those firefighters.

On Oct. 1, his daughter, Laura, gave birth to a son who weighed 9 pounds 11 ounces and was immediately given his grandfather's name.

''The weight, 9-11, correlates to the Sept. 11 date,'' Mr. Hayes's son said. ''We all said, that's Dad, telling us in his own way, 'I'm still here, watching over you.' ''

DOLORES M. COSTA

Always Giving Her All

Giving defined Dolores M. Costa. ''My wife had a heart of gold -- she was very soft,'' said her husband, Charles, who said people were drawn to her blue eyes and her smile.

''She would be up at 5 o'clock every morning to go to work, and from the minute she got up she was giving,'' he said. ''She was giving to me, to her home, to strangers in the street. She gave herself. And when she was at her job, she was giving 110 percent.''

Mrs. Costa, who would have turned 54 on Sept. 13, rose to the position of vice president at Fred Alger Management, on the 93rd floor of 1 World Trade Center.

Her evenings were spent crocheting colorful afghans for friends and talking with her husband about life. Mornings she fed finches, warblers and sparrows that lived in the birdhouses in her backyard in Port Monmouth, N.J. She was planning an 80th birthday party for her mother.

''She was really a good daughter,'' said Marie Barbosa of Brooklyn. ''She worried about me, and now she is gone. That is the sad part of it all.''

At the age of 6, working on a first-grade art project in her hometown, East Northport, N.Y., Joyce Carpeneto gave an early glimpse of the kind of person she would become.

''We were sitting next to each other working, and she had crayons and I didn't,'' said Mary Jane Tenerelli, remembering their first encounter, in 1966. ''She offered to share her crayons with me and we'd been friends ever since.''

Ms. Carpeneto, who would have turned 42 on Oct. 1, was well known as the ''epitome of cool,'' but only one thing surpassed her reputation as a great dancer and a fashion trend-setter: ''She was generous to the point that people were devoted to her,'' Ms. Tenerelli said. ''A couple of years ago, she set me up with her ex-husband. That's got to be the most generous thing ever.''

Ms. Carpeneto, who worked in client services for General Telecom, was also the kind of person who would jump between a friend and a class bully, as she did in junior high when Ms. Tenerelli got into trouble.

''Joyce got in the middle and said, 'Leave Mary Jane alone,' '' her friend said. ''I never had a problem with that bully again.''

BART J. RUGGIERE

Every Day a Celebration

Bart J. Ruggiere was a quintessential New Yorker. He dined in fine restaurants, proposed in Central Park and was married in St. Patrick's Cathedral. In the first days after the attack, his family thought he would turn up, said his wife, Claudia. ''His sister Cathleen asked me whether Bart would consider moving out of the city. I said, no way. He belonged here.''

On Sept. 10, the couple had dinner at an Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village. ''It was a Monday night, and for no reason, he made the reservation,'' Mrs. Ruggiere said, ''because he believed every day is worth celebrating.'' He had lamb chops for an entree and chocolate souffl for dessert.

Rich food was his standard fare. A frequent host of dinner parties at their Upper East Side apartment, Mr. Ruggiere, 32, a trader at Cantor Fitzgerald, usually served steaks, mashed potatoes and chocolate souffls. For breakfast, he usually had Krispy Kreme doughnuts or bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches. ''No vegetables, no fish,'' his wife said. ''He didn't deny himself anything. He just lived the life he wanted to live.'' Although he did not exercise at all, he stood 6-foot-1 and weighed 165 pounds.

''After 9/11, I got a lot of letters from his friends, and many of them said they wanted to live their lives more like Bart had lived his.''

YVETTE NICOLE MORENO

A Devoted 'Sister'

Yvette Nicole Moreno, 24, was a gawky junior high school student when she was paired with a Big Sister, who volunteered to take her on outings to the beach, the ballet or the mall. The match was perfect. Joanne Alicea, 41, had also grown up in a single-parent home, went to Roman Catholic schools and lived in Pelham Bay Park in the Bronx.

For four years, the two saw each other at least every other weekend. They got to know each other's friends and family. And long after the formal relationship was over, they stayed in touch.

Over the summer, Ms. Alicea joined Ms. Moreno and her mother for dinner at Cabana, at the South Street Seaport. Ms. Moreno was bubbling with news. She was working as a receptionist at Carr Futures, in the World Trade Center, and finishing college part time. She was dressed like the successful professional she was becoming, made-up and manicured. She was thinking about buying a car. ''She was doing everything she set out to do,'' Ms. Alicea said.

After the trade center attack, Ms. Alicea visited her friend's mother with condolences. There was a shiny Mitsubishi outside, so new it still had temporary plates and that leathery smell. Ms. Moreno's 21-year-old brother was desperately, hopefully, polishing the chrome.

DONALD FOREMAN

He Kept 15 Captains Happy

The picnic was intended for Port Authority police officers assigned to the PATH system. Technically, Officer Donald Foreman was assigned to the Holland Tunnel, but he was welcome anyway. Donald Foreman was always welcome.

He had spent 29 years with the Port Authority, working for many of those years as a captain's clerk, which meant he did a lot of the nuts-and-bolts administrative tasks for a superior. According to a plaque on a wall at the Holland Tunnel offices, he served 15 consecutive captains, according to his last, Robert Sbarra. ''If he could work for 15 captains without anyone trying to remove him, he must have done his job extremely well.''

But Mr. Foreman, 53, had a full life outside, with a large extended family and volunteer duties that included running the youth sports program for his Roman Catholic parish, Immaculate Conception, on Staten Island. He was also a strict vegetarian, but that hardly kept him from that picnic, a hamburger-and-frankfurter feast on the Jersey Shore.

''I do remember giving him French fries,'' recalled his companion, Cheryl Cooper-Foreman. ''He loved French fries.''

And Ms. Cooper-Foreman and Captain Sbarra both remember this: Donald Foreman playing basketball with kids young enough to be his grandchildren.

TARA Y. HOBBS

A Queen of E-Mail

Tara Y. Hobbs was crowned the ''e-mail queen'' by her friends. ''She kept in touch with everybody -- everybody from middle school, high school, college, work, social life -- through e-mail,'' said her sister Sherian Hobbs. ''She was always planning get-togethers.''

And some of her best friends were her brothers and sisters. As the youngest of five children growing up on Long Island, Tara Hobbs was very close to Sherian, the oldest. ''When Tara was 8 and I was 16, I took her with me on my dates,'' Sherian said. ''The three of us ate ice creams and walked around in the neighborhood. She smiled a lot, never got into the way, and we didn't mind having her.''

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When Tara became an adult, she and her sister still belonged to a threesome, but the third person was new: Tara's boyfriend, Paul Lalanne, with whom she lived in Brooklyn. The three planned to open an office for Primerica, an insurance company under Citigroup. The week before the disaster, Tara, 31, who worked in the insurance branch of Aon, received her license to sell health and life insurance. She and Paul were planning to marry next year.

VASSILIOS G. HARAMIS

Soothing Ferry Rides

There was gardening, Greek music and food, soccer, keeping his two Audis in pristine condition and, of course, the children. These were all passions of Vassilios G. Haramis, a mechanical engineer for Washington Group International who lived on Staten Island.

But it was the water that truly moved Mr. Haramis, 56, who grew up by the sea in southern Greece and, later, relished commuting in the morning on the Staten Island ferry, said his wife, Gloria. ''I think it reminded him of Greece,'' she said. ''The water was calm and it was soothing.''

But Mr. Haramis was deeply devoted to living in the United States. An immigrant who had come to New York in the 1970's as an engineering student at New York University, he received a master's degree from Columbia University and eventually wound up working at the World Trade Center. There, he survived the 1993 parking garage bombing. He and several colleagues waited until a helicopter came and rescued a pregnant woman before they descended more than 90 flights of stairs.

Even after that, Mr. Haramis still adored working at the World Trade Center and riding the ferry to work, Mrs. Haramis said. ''He loved the building, he loved being down there,'' she said. ''That was his place.''

John Moran was a Fire Department battalion chief and his cousin Joseph Crowley was a congressman. But when they united their voices that last Saturday afternoon, at the block party in the Rockaways -- well, ''The Star of the County Down'' never sounded sweeter.

At 42, Chief Moran was a kayaking, tin-whistle-playing firefighter with a law degree. But he never put himself before others. When his wife, Kim, was working out of town, he fed, bathed and smothered with love their two children -- Ryan, 7, and Dylan, 4 -- all the while ensuring that Peggy Moran, his mother who lived above him, never went wanting.

''When I saw his car outside, back home from work, that was a comfort to me,'' his mother said.

People may never forget the taunt that Michael Moran, John's younger brother and fellow firefighter, delivered to Osama bin Laden during a nationally televised concert in October, a taunt so profane and yet so eloquent, full of Irish anger and grief.

But Kim Moran will remember the late afternoon of Sunday, Sept. 9, the day after the block party and two days before the disaster that swallowed him. Trudging up from the beach came her beaming husband, pulling his sons on that wheeled contraption he had built for his kayak.

His wife grabbed a camera and caught it: John Moran in his glory.

GREGORY J. MALONE

A Bachelor Settling Down

Gregory J. Malone was the personification of Wall Street -- hard-working, fast-living, a risk taker. And he had found his soul mate.

''He was a real guy's guy, but that's O.K. because he was scared to death of me,'' his fiance, Fiona Fitzgerald, who is Irish and works for a biotechnology company, said with a laugh. ''He loves fishing, and he's particularly fond of hockey and the New York Yankees. He wouldn't miss a game of the Yankees whether he was at the stadium or watching it on TV in some bar, much to my dismay.''

The two met three and a half years ago in Hoboken, N.J., where Mr. Malone had a house. Mr. Malone was 42, and worked as a bond broker for Maxcor/Euro Brokers. His friends knew him as someone they could party with. But they also saw that Ms. Fitzgerald brought out the romantic side of the longtime bachelor.

One of Greg's last phone calls was to his friend of 18 years, Kevin Croutier, a broker at Lehman Brothers. They talked about the first plane that had hit.

''He was about to settle down,'' Mr. Croutier said. ''He'd just gone to look at lawn furniture, which surprised me. The last place I could imagine him was at Home Depot looking for lawn furniture. But I bet he's happy now, because the Yankees are going to win.''

PETER ORTALE

A Passion for Giving Gifts

Peter Ortale did not need occasions to send people presents. He just sent them when the desire percolated in him. That was often.

One of five siblings, he regularly liked to pick out something that caught his fancy and mail it to each of the others, as well as his mother. In the spring, the relatives got a book, ''A Short Guide to a Happy Life,'' by Anna Quindlen. Just before the summer, he sent them a box of chocolates with a note, ''Have a happy summer.'' His mother was constantly getting flowers.

''He did things without provocation, because he liked to,'' said his sister Mary Malitas.

When not working or sending presents, Mr. Ortale, 37, a bond broker at Euro Brokers, was often playing lacrosse. He was one of the best players on his high school team in Philadelphia, and again at Duke University. After he graduated, he played in Australia, and once he began his career, he continued to play for various leagues on weekends.

A few years ago, he took up cooking. He found it therapeutic. When friends and relatives visited him and his wife in SoHo, he would often turn out an elaborate meal, sometimes trying things not everyone might. Once he steamed a fish in the dishwasher. He thought it came out great.

WADE B. GREEN

From Rascal to Gentle Giant

As a boy, Wade B. Green was a mischievous rascal until his sister, Alicia, was born. ''One night he stayed up with me when I was feeding the baby and he said, 'Mommy, did you have to do that with me, too?''' said his mother, Wilhelmina. ''When Wade realized how much care an infant required, he decided he would be my helper.''

A kindness marked his remaining years. His was known as the gentle giant.

Mr. Green, 42, did not work in the trade center regularly. But he was there on Sept. 11, as a Thomason Financial employee, setting up computers for a conference at Windows on the World, said his wife, Roxanne.

He was handsome, clean-cut and not afraid of hard work, she said. In a storm last winter, he shoveled snow from the driveway of a pregnant neighbor in Westbury, N.Y.

''He was very well liked,'' his wife said. ''He had a smile that was to die for.''

ROBERT A. ZAMPIERI

Trader Relished Privacy

''Dad, someday I'm going to tell you to wear a tuxedo, and that will be my wedding,'' Robert A. Zampieri once said. ''You won't even meet the girl before.''

Robbie, as everyone called him, was shy and private. Now the father, a dentist who is also named Robert, has been moved to make his son's life a little more public. Dr. Zampieri is finishing a newsletter devoted to the life of his son. He has been writing such letters to his patients for 30 years, but never one so personal.

Robbie Zampieri, 30, a trader on the foreign exchange floor for Carr Futures, was low man on the totem pole, working the swing shift. The week before Sept. 11, he had been on nights. That week, he was moved to days on the 92nd floor of the north tower.

He grew up in Saddle River, N.J., the oldest of three children, and attended St. Francis College in Loretto, Pa. He loved his dog, Daisy. They ate and slept together, and played in the ocean. He and his father were buddies. They played golf every Friday.

Robbie loved to surprise his mother. He cut the hedges just the way she liked them. He cleaned the gutters. Despite the memorial service, his father has not said goodbye. ''He's not gone,'' Dr. Zampieri said. ''It's just that I can't hug him anymore.''

The Confirmed Dead

Following are the names of the people most recently confirmed to have died in the World Trade Center disaster, according to the New York City medical examiner's office, which said the victims' families had been notified.